


Tempora Mutantur

by averageclawenfangirl



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: AU, Angst, Badass Ladies, Barry Being Cute AF, Bathroom Sex, Broken Engagement, F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining, No Incident, Smut, Time Skips, more smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-18 09:06:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9377855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/averageclawenfangirl/pseuds/averageclawenfangirl
Summary: ‘Tempora mutanturis a Latin adage meaning “times change”. It is also stated in various longer forms, most commonlyTempora mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis, meaning“Times change, and we change with them”.’





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _So, this is what happens when[@auroradunnpreston](https://tmblr.co/mNWT78wpz416zllyRDgPKhw) and I play around with prompt generators. This has the potential to be a multi-chapter; so please, if you like it and have any ideas - let me know! Enjoy ❤️_

Claire felt the unfamiliar flutter of nerves twist in her gut, the cab cruising through the city streets, lit up against the dark sky above. Partying wasn’t her forte; studying was. She enjoyed the impersonal poetry of statistics and graphs, not chasing down the tang of lime and salt with another shot. The fabric of her dress glittered under the passing streetlights; Claire adjusted the material self consciously. She’d never been a social butterfly yet couldn’t be classed as a recluse. She just had better things to do than get wasted every weekend - _not_ that she judged those who did. Claire Dearing had _plans;_ she wanted to move up in the world, out of her broken family home where she could scarcely breathe.

Claire still hadn’t gotten over the euphoria she’d felt a week earlier. Flipping through the morning mail - bills her mom hadn’t paid, envelopes with _LAST WARNING_ stamped boldly in red across the front - she’d come across a letter addressed to her, _Miss Claire Athena Dearing._ With frantic hands she’d torn at the paper, anticipating another rejection from the hundred or so jobs she’d applied to, with the intention of supporting herself during her final years of studying. But it wasn’t rejection, nor was it acceptance into anything she’d applied for. The letter clutched between Claire’s fingers was an invitation to become an intern at Masrani Global, the world’s fastest-growing telecommunications company. 

Claire had read on eagerly; both excitement and nerves competing for her heart. They wanted her to join them at Jurassic World, on Isla Nublar, off the coast of Costa Rica. She knew all about its predecessor, of course. The legend of Jurassic Park was infamous to people her age. The letter touched on it briefly; how Masrani Global planned to open an entirely new experience for citizens of the world, having learnt lessons from the past. It was an original venture for their business, a venture they desired Claire to accompany them on. _A new start._ For them, and for her. 

It hadn’t taken Claire long to reach a decision. It would mean leaving her mother; a woman who she dearly loved, but one who had folded into herself after the father of her children left. Her sister had already flown their tattered nest; married with her second child on the way, Karen only encouraged Claire to follow her dreams. The girls she’d invited tonight had nothing but good things to say, too. They weren’t _friends_ , as such. Claire had become wary of emotional attachment after her father had left, and was so blinded by her need to excel in life that she barely took any time to be what she was: a 24-year-old woman with her entire destiny ahead of her. 

Carly, Faith and Rebecca were girls she knew from college; ones she’d dropped an email to after accepting the job that meant she’d be leaving the entire country. The three of them were best friends, inviting Claire now and again to events when the occasion called. They’d responded almost instantly, gushing over her achievements, promising they’d attend drinks to send her off. As the cab pulled up outside the club, Claire cursed herself inwardly for bending to the social norm. She realised didn’t need waving off by women she only ever saw perhaps twice a year; and even that was mostly out of pity. 

Handing the driver a fistful of bills and plastering a smile on her face, Claire wrapped her jacket a little tighter round herself as her ID was checked, she was granted access inside the club and gave her jacket to the cloakroom. Arriving twenty minutes early had previously been a good idea; now Claire was full of regret. The place was pretty busy; dance music thumping from the speakers, lights throwing kaleidoscopes of colour against the wall. Holding herself a little straighter, Claire headed for the bar. Vodka would take the edge off it all, or so she hoped. 

//

Owen drained the last of his beer from the bottle, wondering whether he could down a whiskey before he hit the road. His evening had been long and fruitless; Chad had long since disappeared into the night with a blonde woman he’d _sworn_ he’d known since high school. Hanging around in bars full of college kids wasn’t how Owen had anticipated spending his leave after his most recent tour, but he supposed he had to roll with it. Even if that meant being ditched by his supposed best friend for the first woman he saw. 

Owen was fishing in his pocket for cash when a pair of legs stole his attention. Long, pale and coltish; ending in towering heels. Eyebrow raised, his eyes travelled upwards. The girl must’ve been three or four years younger than him at most; long red hair tumbling past her slim waist. She was dressed in golden sequins; the fabric short on her thighs and close to her curves. A total knockout. She looked slightly nervous, her eyes darting about the dark room, perhaps unsure of her surroundings. Yet Owen noted the little arrogance in the way she held herself; her chin turned upward, the way she flicked her hair over her shoulder. He smiled. _She was perfect._

The bartender called to him; he offered his place in the queue to her, instead. She turned to Owen; blue eyes blinking in the neon lights as she met his gaze for the first time. “Are you sure?” She asked, raising her voice to be heard over the music. “Of course,” he nodded. She thanked him, a downward sweep of illegally long lashes and teeth sinking into her lower lip. _God damn, she was cute._ “I’m Owen, by the way,” he added, as she tapped the bar impatiently with one perfectly manicured finger. “Claire,” she replied, offering a hand to shake. Owen smiled at the gesture; the girl had clearly never been properly hit on before - which surprised him greatly. 

“You all by yourself?” Owen asked innocently. “No, I’m waiting for my friends to arrive, actually,” Claire retorted defensively, squaring her shoulders in her pretty halterneck. He admired her feistiness, her furrowed brow. “I’m not trying to be creepy,” he chuckled, “just makin’ some conversation,” Owen shrugged as Claire ordered a vodka and lemonade. Owen surprised himself, ordering another beer as she apparently mulled over his answer. “Who are _you_ here with?” Claire asked after a moment, eyes narrowed, taking a sip of the drink placed in front of her. “Only the crippling sense of loneliness,” he winked, and delighted in watching the blush colour her cheeks as she grinned, her features no longer scowling. 

“Nah, my buddy just ditched me - for a woman. Can you believe _that?”_ Owen laughed, the bartender setting down a beer in front of him as he paid. “I’m assuming she was probably better company than you,” Claire said quietly, raising her eyebrows and smirking blatantly in his direction. _God. She even bites back_. Justin Timberlake’s latest release came thumping over the speakers; people evaporating around them and heading to the dancefloor. “Listen, I don’t know about you, but I can barely hear myself think in here. You wanna take this waitin’ around business outside?” Owen leaned close as he spoke in her ear, almost overwhelmed by the scent of vanilla on her skin. Claire nodded, heading toward the terrace door. Owen tried to avert his eyes; to obvious failure. Her ass was high, tight and fantastic; probably due to some exercise he couldn’t put his finger on. She didn’t strike him as a cheerleader. He wasn’t entirely sure _what_ she was, but he followed her steps eagerly anyway. 

//

Claire was laughing, more than she had in years. Another vodka in and she was starting to feel herself relax; her bones mellowing, her personality more forthcoming. Claire wasn’t drunk, by any means. Just flushed with the humour of her company. They were sat on a cushioned bench atop the terrace, respecting one another’s space, having taken a place at either end. The ten minutes she’d planned to spend with him had progressed into a full half hour, with no sign of Carly, Faith or Rebecca. Owen (last name, Grady, she’d discovered) was 28-years-old; and fresh on leave from a tour with the Navy SEALS, where he’d been serving for five years already. 

Claire wasn’t about to deny his attractiveness; he was tanned, tall, and his handsome features were a little weary with the sun and all he had seen. Owen wore dark jeans and a grey shirt; his thighs straining against the denim, dark blonde hair visible on his broad chest thanks to his open collar. Claire noted the dog tags round his neck, the way his biceps pushed against the fabric around them. She shivered involuntarily as she glanced at the large hands nursing his beer, his scarred forearms. Owen was a little guarded; she noted a kindred spirit in his slight unease with the crowds. It only intrigued her further. In turn, Owen had asked Claire questions, gently probing for information about her life. 

He’d listened with wide eyes and she’d spilled her family wreckage over the distance between them; the air cool but not cold enough to force them back inside. The city was sprawled out beneath them; cab horns sounding and music droning on, others around them smoking and shrieking and clanking bottles in celebration of something in their lives. But, to Claire, it seemed he only had eyes for her. He’d crack a joke here and there; usually at her expense, and she’d fight the urge to smile, eyes rolling back, retort slipping from her lips. Owen was halfway through telling her about his Alsatian, Misty, when Claire’s phone buzzed with a text. 

Owen’s words faltered, his voice quieter as she read the display. “Those girls finally show?” He asked, and Claire shook her head. “Carly’s having trouble sorting a sitter for her kids. A real shame.. I mean, it’s not like a gave them an entire _week’s_ notice,” Claire muttered, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice, taking a long sip of her drink, ice rattling in the glass. “Somethin’ tells me you ain’t as fond of these friends as you’d have led me to believe,” Owen murmured, grinning slightly as he drank from his own bottle. 

“They’re not my friends, exactly,” Claire sighed, “they’re more.. _Acquaintances_. I wasn’t there for the slumber parties and the trips to the mall. I was in the library, wearing the crappy glasses my mom could just about afford, finishing a paper for extra merit. It’s what I wanted, at the time, and strangely.. I don’t regret it. I was so caught _up_ in moving ahead in terms of my life, I guess I never really took the time to form any sort of real relationship with them, you know?” She said sadly, and Owen nodded. He’d been sympathetic, listening to Claire tell of how her father had deserted her family, and now the story of how she’d isolated herself in her teen years; comforting with eager ears. 

“I get it. Trust me - I do. It’s a little easier to cut yourself off when you’ve seen men you consider brothers die right in front of you. That shit’s tough,” he murmured, eyes flickering in the dim light of the terrace. “Sorry,” he continued when Claire stayed silent. “I shouldn’t have put this whole thing on a downer,” he scrubbed the back of his head with a hand awkwardly. “Don’t be sorry,” Claire smiled, “I appreciate your honesty.” His smile journeyed all the way toward his steady gaze, as genuine as the sky was blue. Claire hadn’t realised just how close they had gotten; his arm laid out over the back of the bench near her shoulder, her folded legs near to his. She shifted a little; her knee bumping against his for a moment. The slight contact was electric for her, blush creeping into her neck as Owen’s eyes bored into hers. 

Claire moved as though he had burned her; chastising herself mentally, for it was only minor, yet she felt it so much. She broke their shared gaze, leaning toward the table for her glass. “So, what are your plans for the future?” Claire asked, clearing her throat, shattering the probable silence that had settled over them. Owen exhaled heavily, large shoulders shrugging under his shirt. It was the one subject they hadn’t discussed. He told her he had no idea; that his experience with training dolphins had led him to believe that maybe working with animals was his true calling. “Or, you’ve just had enough of human contact,” Claire said lightly, trying to inject some humour back into the conversation. “You know, I really thought that I damn well had,” Owen murmured, no joke in his sensual tone, thumb rubbing against the top of his bottle. 

The atmosphere was charged; they may as well have been the only two souls on the terrace. Claire knew she should look away, but found herself unable to, heat pooling in her belly as Owen watched her intently, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. Owen murmured that he was heading to the bathroom; that he’d be back in a few moments. Claire was glad for it; it gave her time to think. She was helplessly attracted to the man who had been beside her; practically begging for his hand to touch her naked shoulder, to feel him against her in any way possible. Claire knew her limits; it couldn’t have been the alcohol that made her feel this way. Maybe it was Owen; an irresistible man from the shadows who had courted her with such practised ease. Claire was under no illusions; she was aware that this sort of thing was probably a weekly occurrence for him. But he was kind, honest; _and he wanted her, too_.

Maybe she just didn’t _care;_ stood on a grand precipice in her life, about to leave the country she’d lived in her whole life to embark on an adventure she’d only ever dreamed of. Claire had felt suffocated for over a decade; first by her mom, then her sister advancing in ways she never would, her supposed friends sharing no common interest with her, no drive to see the world for what it was. _For the taking_. Claire was finally leaving them behind, putting her past to bed, heading somewhere where nothing was certain. She was _free_ ; she felt bold, fearless, and a little like living the teenage years she’d missed out on. In a fleeting moment, her mind had been made up. She got to her feet, and followed in Owen’s footsteps. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thanks for all the incredible feedback on the first chapter of this piece. So glad you’re all enjoying it. Please - continue to let me know your thoughts. As always, a shoutout to[@auroradunnpreston](https://tmblr.co/mNWT78wpz416zllyRDgPKhw) for being a total badass sidekick in the creation of this fic. NSFW incoming, loves._

He was wiping his hands with a paper towel when Claire pushed at the door cautiously, eyes darting about the thankfully deserted space. Owen threw it in the trash; eyebrow raised as if to ask her presence there. Claire swallowed thickly; heart hammering with such an urgency she wondered whether he could hear it, too. Her tongue ran over her lower lip; an action she knew Owen didn’t miss as his eyes darkened, realisation dawning across his face. She indicated the cubicle to her left; enclosed floor to ceiling. He stepped close, taking her hand, tugging her inside behind him.

Owen wasted no time in sliding the lock behind her back; pressing Claire against the dark wood, his lips finally against hers, the cords of tension that had been wrapped so thickly around them now in tatters on the floor. He was different to the boys she’d kissed at the few college parties she’d attended; worlds apart from the way she’d been with her high school boyfriend of two years. They’d been careless with her; naive, too eager to score points with their friends to consider Claire and her desires. They were boys: Owen was a _man_. He was seemingly determined to make Claire feel it; the searing kisses pressed against her throat, his grip on her hips strong but not so much that she couldn’t bear it. 

Her hands wound themselves in his hair; anchoring him to the dangerously sensitive spot between her neck and shoulder. Claire could feel his teeth; Owen would bruise her, yet strangely she didn’t mind. Lust had overcome her in brutal waves, a tsunami she was happy to drown in. Owen was hard already; digging into Claire’s stomach as her breathing became increasingly laboured. His hands travelled up past her ribs, trespassing beneath the fabric of her dress, her breasts at the mercy of his touch. Claire’s spine arched, curse falling from her mouth as Owen caressed her, skilled digits playing her like a song. Soon enough, he slid down into the waistband of her panties, pushing them to the ground. 

Claire caught them on one heel, intending to hold them close, yet Owen was too fast as he plucked them from her grasp. “I’ll need to hold onto these,” he chuckled darkly, gripping her chin, ensuring eye contact. “I don’t know how loud you’re goin’ to be,” Owen smirked, stuffing her underwear unceremoniously into his back pocket. He swallowed her outraged laugh with his lips, tongues sliding over one another, Claire’s head falling back against the tiled wall. She sensed Owen’s calloused fingers underneath the sequins; humming as he skated over her skin, then crying out in a heady mix of pain and pleasure when he was inside her. 

He was skilled; there was no doubting it, Claire’s suspicions of Owen’s regular activities near definitely true. She didn’t care, far off on a plane of bliss so sweet and strong as he continued to set her blood alight. Claire was barely aware of his belt buckle rattling as it hit the floor; but her hands sought out the button of Owen’s jeans, his chuckle filthy in her ear as she impatiently tugged at the denim. He withdrew from her, procuring protection from his wallet, tearing into it with gusto. Claire was impatient; she could still feel him against her belly, and she was more than ready. It perhaps should have occurred to her at that moment that what she was doing was essentially wrong; _dangerous_ , even, but Claire couldn’t describe the delicious charges crackling along her body, making her surrender to a man she’d only just met. 

Owen was gripping her thigh tightly, fingers surely working grooves into her skin as he held her in place. His other hand wound into her hair at the base of her neck possessively; the muscle of his bicep almost tearing his shirt at the seams. His mouth was over hers as Claire gasped at Owen’s sudden entry, the surprise evaporating into cathartic pleasure. He had beautiful rhythm; and it was clear her pleasure was just as important as his own as she whimpered against his lips, his thickness melting into her with every thrust. He became relentless; she was helpless to do anything other than take what he gave her. All the while, Owen’s eyes bored into hers with no sign of release any time soon. Claire’s phone, abandoned on the floor inside her purse, vibrated with a string of texts. Her friends had arrived, but strangely couldn’t see her _anywhere._

//

“You okay?” Owen murmured; his forehead pressed against hers, fingers trailing through her hair. “I think so,” Claire whispered with a smile, his thumb running over her swollen bottom lip. He’d bitten her there; perhaps a little too hard, passion overwhelming him as he’d tugged at her skin. He could barely believe how insatiable he’d been around her. Then again, Owen had only just met the girl, and she had been hopelessly hot for him; squirming and shaking when he’d barely even touched her. It was enough to drive any man insane; Owen, as a thoroughly red-blooded male, had stood no chance. 

Claire held out her hand, eyebrow raised; wordlessly requesting the return of her panties. Owen chuckled, handing them back and throwing the condom in the trash. When he turned; Claire was scrolling through her retrieved phone, chewing the same reddened lip with concern. “What’s up?” Owen enquired. “They’re here,” Claire sighed, taking a moment to slip her underwear back on and fix the neckline of her dress. He wasn’t sure whether to turn away; it seemed pointless given the fact he’d fucked her against the very wall she stood in front of. He averted his eyes instead, attempting to conjure a smooth way of asking for her phone number. 

There was no question of his wanting to see Claire again. The girl was breathtaking; literally, and Owen wasn’t ready to let her slip through his fingers. Yes, her friends had arrived, but he had every intention of taking her out on a date eventually. “This was, uh..” Claire faltered, throwing her hair over her shoulder, apparently shaking something off. Owen smiled, head tilted as he waited for her to continue. “Come on,” he encouraged sarcastically, “don’t be shy.” Claire rolled her eyes; then stared at him for a moment, gaze travelling the length of his body. “ _Special_ ,” she decided, her chin jutted out arrogantly beneath the lights as she held out a hand to shake. Owen was bemused; she was genuinely thanking him for what had happened.

“You sure do love a hand shake,” Owen teased, rewarded by pink creeping into the paleness of her skin as she cringed. “I don’t usually do this. I mean, I _never_ do this. I just -” Claire began, stumbling over her words. Owen closed the gap between them, pressing his lips to hers lightly as she squeaked in surprise. He couldn’t help himself; his hand gripping her elbow, holding her close as she opened up to him, the kiss deepening. Claire was the most incredible mix of confidence and naiveness, so sure of herself in the swing of her hips and words rolling off her tongue; and yet so totally helpless in his arms. Owen was addicted, and dangerously so. “I _really_ have to go,” Claire whispered as they broke apart breathlessly. 

“Can I see you again?” He asked, not giving a damn about the sheer bluntness of his request. “It’s not that simple,” Claire murmured quietly. “Boyfriend?” Owen asked, though he was confident the answer would be the one he wanted. The hour or so they’d talked on the terrace had produced no mention of another guy in her life; and he was certain they’d deliberated almost all of Claire’s passions, her laughter echoing in his mind. She shook her head. “I’m leaving the country, Owen. And not just on vacation,” she smiled sadly. How _that_ hadn’t come up in conversation, Owen would never know. “Damn,” he exhaled, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “Where to?” He asked. “I can’t say - yet. Close friends and family only, that type of thing,” she shrugged. 

“I knew you were some sort of a big deal,” Owen laughed; Claire joining him, though she looked pained. “Well, it’s like I’ve always said. Fate’s the cruelest mistress,” he sighed, and she held his gaze for a moment. “Owen, I - I have to go,” she mumbled, moving for the lock, Owen backing away to let her go. She darted out the cubicle door as he buckled his belt, calling out her name hastily as he scrambled to follow. “Claire!” Owen called out to her vanishing form, her golden dress shimmering as she moved through the throng of people on the dancefloor. Owen was powerless to stop her. Claire turned her head one final time; pale skin and red hair aflame under the fluorescent lights. She stared at him intently for a moment, face unreadable, before she was gone, lost in the bodies around her. 

Owen swallowed, hand tearing through the hair on the back of his head. He wasn’t about to chase her; if she didn’t want to know, he’d have to let it slide. He realised with a crushing blow that he didn’t even know her last name, let alone her number. Whether her leaving the country was true or not, they’d simply met in the right place at the wrong time. Claire would burn bright in his memory; but that’s all she would be. A memory, eventually fading over time. He tried to squash his sentimental side into a sense of order, yet failed. Owen had never been so entranced by a woman and was struggling to believe he ever would be again. Sighing, he headed for the exit. _Get a grip, Grady_ , he chastised himself. _Ain’t no use crying over spilled milk._

**Seven Years Later**

She could feel the headache start to trouble her temples; the feeling of her head being trapped in a vice far too familiar. Claire had been inside for hours, interviewing new recruits; she longed for the sun to kiss her skin, the ocean breeze to tangle her hair. Despite various rumours she’d heard, Claire Dearing was a human being like everybody else. She too was in dire need of a way to clear her head; and more importantly, free herself from the weight currently adorning the ring finger on her left hand. Dylan’s engagement ring glittered in the dying afternoon light, throwing kaleidoscopes of colour across her office walls. It was a thing of immense beauty; a little flashy for her taste, yet Claire could still appreciate the effort he’d gone to to buy it. 

She’d met Dylan in her fifth year at Jurassic World, when he’d come to the island to work as a data analyst in Control. Slim with dark hair and black-rimmed glasses; his charming smile had caught her off guard in the cafeteria one day. He was insanely intelligent, a little shy; but kind and caring towards as her as their morning coffee meetings progressed into dinner dates. The lovers in Claire’s life had been sparse; she’d returned to the US only a handful of times and the male staff weren’t exactly on rotation. Dylan was calm and considerate with her, and in return Claire put in effort to convince him she was satisfied each time he rolled off her. 

She was only thirty-one, yet some insane sort of clock had begun ticking in her head. Both Karen and her mother had been overjoyed to hear about Dylan; the last Dearing girl finally settling down. She hated that phrase; Claire wasn’t ready to _settle._ She had her routines, but Claire breathed a life outside them, quietly nurturing a soul still wanting to see the world. But Dylan slowly invaded her space; his shoes by her apartment door, his aftershave on the bathroom cabinet, his sleeping form in her bed. She was said yes to his nervous proposal in Nobu on instinct, out of convenience. _When had she become that woman?_ Claire was just like the girls she’d left behind all those years ago, living to please everybody else and sacrificing the very essence of herself. 

It wasn’t fair on herself; or more importantly, Dylan. _He deserved so much more_ , Claire mused sadly as she twisted his ring round her finger. Marrying him had seemed like the right thing to do, at the time. Claire had been swept up in it all; a date being set, venues booked, invitations close to being sent out. She’d had an ache in her heart since the start, knowing she was sealing herself off from true happiness. It wasn’t Dylan’s fault. She loved him, but she wasn’t _in_ love with him. Claire couldn’t go through with it - she refused to consign herself to that fate. She slipped the ring off, concealing it carefully in her top draw. Dylan was returning from a trip to Japan that night, and _that_ was when she’d tell him that it was over. She grimaced at the thought of his face; crushed beyond belief. But it was the right thing to do. She knew it. 

“Claire?” Zara’s voice and accompanying knock on her office door barely registered with her, only half shaking Claire from her reverie. She beckoned her assistant forward wordlessly. “We’re done with the ACU recruits for today, at least. There’s still three InGen employees on the itinerary to brief, their ferry will be docking in ten - but we can push that back to tomorrow, if you’re not feeling up to it?” Zara said quietly, eyeing the folders on her desk as she peered at her boss, concern on her face. “No,” Claire sighed, “I need my schedule as clear as possible tomorrow, so I’ll see them as soon as you can get them up here. I may need you to take on the clients from Verizon on Monday, by the way,” she said glumly, her mind already projecting the fallout she was expecting with Dylan. 

“Not a problem. Just email me over the figures,” the other woman nodded. “Thanks, Zara,” Claire managed to smile. “Just one more thing: about an hour ago we received an email informing us that InGen sourced an extra recruit, a Navy SEAL who was only cleared for work a couple of days ago. His file is here - did you want me to brief you beforehand?” Her assistant asked. Claire waved her away, already turning to face the window; the large vista of the ocean below her. “No, it’s okay. I think I’ll just wing it,” Claire muttered. Zara was thankful the other woman couldn’t see her expression of total confusion; never in her seven-year history had Claire Dearing been known to _just wing it._

// Owen was transfixed by the image before him; Isla Nublar in all her glory coming closer in the afternoon sun. The ferry was slicing easily through the waves, rays of light dancing off the blue below him. He was approaching his new home; one hopefully more permanent than the last. Owen was seeking a relative calm after the storm; years of military life weighing heavy on his conscience. Yes, Jurassic World itself would be busy, but his future employers ensured he would have as little as possible to do with the commercial side of the park. Owen had been headhunted by InGen, his continued work with dolphins as part of a SEAL program apparently causing quite a stir between those in the know. He was offered a contract, and a split decision. Owen took it; never being one to deny the bringing about of change. 

Project IBRIS, as InGen were calling it, was yet to be unveiled fully to him. Owen knew it involved velociraptors; that fact alone both excited and intrigued him beyond belief. He had been promised a bungalow of sorts away from the employee village; a salary he could barely believe and a hot climate all year round. That, combined with the lure of tequila and relative solitude had encouraged Owen to sign the dotted line. He was the wrong side of thirty; looking to slow down in life but nowhere near ready to stop still. Owen had wounds to heal; more mental than physical, yet he couldn’t resist the taste of adventure - he’d always enjoyed flirting with the unknown. He had no attachments to speak of; a true free agent, wandering to his next calling in life. 

“You okay?” Came Barry’s calm, accented voice. Owen had been introduced to the man only hours ago at the airport; the French man’s kind eyes and trusting smile resonating deeply with him. It was essential to know who to rely on going into battle. The man joined Owen as he leant against the railings, bags at their feet. “Uhuh. Just thinkin’,” Owen nodded. “About how there’s still time to go back?” Barry chuckled, and Owen smiled. “Nah,” he said, “about how much I can’t wait to get started.” Barry clapped him on the back, shaking his head, leaving Owen in peace. They were close to land now; bodies milling around the dock in their hundreds, the natural come and go of a theme park. Owen was already longing for the quiet his new accommodation would offer him, his mind on the best place to buy beer. 

//

The English woman - Zara, she’d told them - was informing them for the third time of what to expect from the coming days. “Your possessions have already been delivered, and you’re expected to attend an induction session at the InGen compound, 9am tomorrow morning,” she finished in her clipped accent. It sounded so foreign to Owen, her sharp tone reverberating around the sticky tropical air. Barry had already tried his luck, much to Zara’s chagrin, the woman flashing her wedding band flippantly. Owen liked the woman, though. _Took no shit_. Hopefully she’d set the tone for the others he was yet to encounter - he’d be lying if he said sex and how hard it would be to come by wasn’t on his mind. 

Owen and the three other soon-to-be InGen employees - Barry, and a man and woman he hadn’t yet been introduced to - trooped off the monorail in Zara’s heeled footsteps, pushing away from the crowds and toward a secluded building behind what the tourist map had called the _Innovation Centre_. Owen was impressed by what he’d seen of the park so far - no expense spared, as he’d remembered the owner of its notorious predecessor saying to news crews around the world. He’d been much younger when Jurassic Park had opened its doors to the public - a boy, really. The images of the horror that occurred there never left Owen; but had rather been replaced by what he’d seen on his tours. In each case, he knew he had to tread carefully. 

Zara was handing out ID cards, telling them to sit and wait in the thankfully air-conditioned room. Owen did as he was told, lowering his duffel to the floor, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. “You’ll be briefed individually now by Claire Dearing. She’s the Senior Assets Manager - so, not _overly_ involved with InGen, but she oversees all areas of the park. It shouldn’t take too long,” Zara nodded, before offering them a smile and heading through the office door. Owen hoped it wouldn’t take too long. He wanted a shower, and a change of clothes. Travelling had made him weary, and the last thing he needed was this Claire chick setting a bug up his ass on his first day. 

//

“They’re here,” Zara said, leaving the door slightly ajar, Claire moving to her feet. “Great. We’ll go from the top -” she fetched the first folder from the top of the pile, feeling slightly guilty that she’d spent the last half hour spaced out instead of preparing, her engagement ring burning a hole in her top drawer. Claire sucked in a deep breath; willing for the transition of the last batch of new staff to be easy. “Owen Grady,” she read on the file, and heard Zara echo the name to the group outside. _Wait. Owen Grady. Where did she know that name from?_ It circled her mind, dipping out of touch, just below where she could reach it. _Wasn’t that_ \- Claire’s thoughts were broken off by the sight of the man in the doorway. 

It took a moment. A single beat; before it hit her like an oncoming train, taking no prisoners. He was bigger than she remembered; his shoulders broader, thighs thicker, face far more worn than the once that danced in the depths of her memories. _Owen Grady_ , the military man who’d taken her against the wall of a bathroom seven years ago. Claire felt her cheeks flare; the signs of recognition dawning on his face, too. His eyes narrowed as he took a step forward, before his mouth gaped a little in shock. “ _Claire?_ ” he asked incredulously, and she nodded. “Owen,” she managed, extending a hand for him to shake. 


End file.
